


Erlöse Mich

by SyntheticEngel



Category: Rammstein, Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, basically code for i take basic plot from the game and screw with it, prayer circle that i can write a malkavian without going fishmalk, sebastian lacroix proves himself to be a pain in the ass as usual, tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 11:02:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13703133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyntheticEngel/pseuds/SyntheticEngel
Summary: Being on the run from the Camarilla is not a position any Kindred would want to find themselves in.But that's not the only thing Till is running from. And time is catching up with him.





	1. Prologue: Wir Haben Angst Und Sind Allein

Till Lindemann was sick of looking at cardboard boxes.

In the three years he'd lived in Los Angeles, he'd moved over a dozen times. Mostly, the apartments stayed the same; the buildings did not. Everything tended to blend together, certain places lost with other discarded memories of the last century and a half of his life. Bedrooms were all layed out the same, only his basic furniture surviving the trips. He owned very little personal belongings, but what was boxed up, he was tired of staring at. He'd lived in this building for a week now, yet he was still in a stand-off with the last two cardboard containers of unpacked items.

Instead, Till opted to lay in bed, enjoying the air of the ceiling fan on his face. Sunrise would be approaching within the hour, so opening the window was out of the question. All these hot summer nights were getting on his last nerve. He loathed it, a far cry from the Berlin temperatures he had grown accustomed to for the majority of his life.

He wished he'd never moved to LA.

Unfortunately for him, leaving wasn't an option now. He knew he was being tracked, and this last time had been too close of a call for his liking. If he tried to hop a plane, he'd surely be followed and met with a final death before he'd even made it a mile from the airport. And that was on top of trying to time flights just right to make it back overseas to Germany on flights where the sun wouldn't rise while in the sky. The Anarchs had always extended their hand to Till, as he'd been an invaluable ally to them for many years, but this time it was a risk he couldn't take, so he'd turned them down at every offer.

Sometimes he wondered if it wouldn't be the worst idea to reach out to Ollie's friend Mitnick for a change in identity - a name change, new passports, the works. But he trusted the Nosferatu about as far as he could throw them, knowing many of them would sell him out for one blood pack if the price was right.

It didn't help that Gary didn't like him much, anyway.

Oh, old gorgeous Gary Golden and his hatred for the Toreadors. It wasn't as if Till had asked to be part of the clan, so he could never come to a conclusion as to _why_ Gary chose to loathe him as much as he did. The times he'd met with him, Gary had read him like a book, singling out all his weaknesses and faults as if he'd clawed his way into Till's brain within minutes. Clinging to his humanity wasn't just a stereotypical Toreador trait that bubbled to the surface (too often, as the Nosferatu primogen had pointed out) though - it was the only peace Till felt given his condition. He'd always been protective by nature, even back during his human life. Only this time, that nature had prevented him from feeling everything _but_ peace.

And now, it had landed him here. On the run, constantly looking over his shoulder, all because of a spur of the moment impulse.

Fuck, maybe Gary had a point about him.

As he remained lost in his thoughts, the dark night sky had begun to lighten just a smidge, signaling Till to tug on the blinds next to his bare bones bed. The room went completely dark, leaving Till alone with only himself, his thoughts, and the knowledge that his time was almost certainly running out.


	2. 1. Was Fühlst Du? Was Bist Du?

“Well, look at this pretty new face!”

Atka turned, untouched drink in hand. She hadn’t had any interest in what was in the cup for the last hour, letting the ice dissolve and melt away as she zoned out to the activity around her. If she was being honest with herself, she should have just gone home. Paranoia had been settling in severely the past couple of nights, moreso than usual. The flickering thoughts that something was very, very wrong had been popping up, and there wasn't a source she could pin it down on.

Most troubling of all, however, was the missing time she couldn't account for lately.

"Um, can I help you?" Atka asked timidly, her voice nearly inaudible over the thump of the club speakers. If she was being honest, the noise was causing her head to throb.

"Little baby Malkavian, hmmm? Did mommy or daddy dump you on a doorstep, oh you poor thing!" Her voice was sickly, syrupy sweet and her tone overly familiar. The woman had her blonde hair in two high pigtails, dressed like a schoolgirl straight out of a fetish magazine. Atka had witnessed her type before on her very few and far between outings to the Asylum in the past, but never been approached directly - even on occasions where she'd been actively seeking someone.

The blonde's fingertips traced her jaw, holding her as if she we a statue made of etched glass, yet sizing her up. Atka had felt like prey before, more times than she cared to remember. Working the night shift alone as a young woman in Santa Monica had offered more than its fair share of encounters that left her shaken. She wasn’t keen on the idea of being touched by this stranger, female or not.

Recoiling as slender, well manicured fingers pawed their way through her long jet black hair, Atka let out a nervous laugh, trying to shrug off the woman. "Not sure what you mean by baby malkovitch or whatever, but uh that's an interesting pickup line!"

Her attempt at diffusing things with nervous joking proved useless, as the woman angled herself right in front of Atka's seat, placing herself between her legs and leaning forward. The darker haired woman found herself with a face full of push-up bra (and most likely also surgically) enhanced breasts. "Don't be silly little girl! That is… unless you really _don't_ know," the blonde's face suddenly thoughtful.

"Know what?"

"Oh there's LOTS I can teach you!" her tone changing to one of giddy excitement, eyes lighting up. "Oh think of the possibilities-"

Atka had heard enough. She pushed on the woman's shoulder, finally shoving her away from practically sitting in her lap. "Listen, to be truthful with you, I have no idea what you're talking about, any of it, or who you are to begin with. And it's freaking me out a bit."

The woman pouted, her mood quickly turning sour. "Well fine! Don't take my help," she whined like a child not getting her way before bounding off around a corner out of sight.

Trying to shake off whatever had just happened there, Atka tried to take a sip of her drink. As she swallowed, she noticed another odd occurrence - an eternal dryness in her mouth. Granted, she could barely remember most of her meals in the past few days, but now, she was becoming overly aware of it. There was an ache in her stomach, an emptiness she wasn't sure how to fill. She attempted to take a handful of pretzels into her mouth; at that moment, a fat, heavily tattooed man came stomping around the same corner the strange woman had just disappeared around.

"Alright lady, what did you do to upset Jeanette?", the man asked, scowling at her.

The pretzels did nothing. She still felt starved, like nothing had hit her stomach.

"You mean the woman who shoved her tits in my face and got upset when I didn't understand what she was talking about? If she thinks I upset her, that's her choice." Atka shrugged and took another sip. Nothing. Her mouth was still dry. And now, it was staring to become more and more unbearable by the second.

Fire. Fire was in her throat, flickering up from the pit of her gut. The flames licked upward, scorching her tongue. She had to get out of that club. Something was wrong.

"Lady? Hey lady, are you okay?" The man's voice sounded a million miles away, the walls of the club swirling into distorted red patterns. It reminded her of TV static, the distortions only growing worse as she rubbed at her eyes. Atka pushed herself up abruptly from her stool, her drink going crashing to the ground as she clumsily ambled about. To anyone else she would have simply looked drunk.  

Even though it was a short walk from the bar to the outside of the Asylum, Atka still wasn't sure how she'd made it out the large set of double doors. She fell to her knees, crashing to the sidewalk heaving and panting, only vaguely aware of the sound of a car pulling up and a door slamming mere feet from her.

**Author's Note:**

> just a quick note to say i dont condone shipping real life people or trying to rewrite their lives - these are characters based on the band members, not meant to be ACTUALLY them. that being said i hope you enjoy this dumpster fire


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